The Last Charge Of The Polish Lancers Poem by Gordon R Menzies

At dawn that day we rode through fields of harvest sun
man and horse crying the name of their sire
but by noon the autumn skies began to scream
our enemies had sowed our fields with fire

Mechanical horrors of a different age, they
crossed the border cloaked in hammered steel and dread
before these new machines our hearts they failed, and
with gaping mouths and widened eyes our courage fled

"There! " our Captain cried, and rode for a nearby rise
and we galloped for the hills across the water
saw from these heights our towns beyond
the fine green land they'd come to slaughter

Our Grey Captain slowed his mount and turned
amid the choking smoke and burning land
grim faced he drew his sun-kissed saber
cried, "Here, my lads, we make our stand! "

Not one man quavered though the end was near
they gazed determined at the destruction wrought
then lance and blade were drawn anew
the foe would not advance unfought

"Arise you men of the field!
we were not born to only yield
before we from our enemies fly
let us make our stand here and die

"Though the lance will shatter
we will charge them just the same!
let the foe-man hear our thunder
and the world recall our name! "

Eager mounts and lowered lances answered firm
they were broken on the steel
though they fought in vain upon that day
they had refused to kneel